


January 22, 1973 (A Day with the Doctor)

by dalekanim



Series: Mother's Day [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 05:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalekanim/pseuds/dalekanim
Summary: A very rapidly-written Mother's Day present. My mother dislikes the traditional cards and flowers, so I wrote her into a Doctor Who adventure instead. (A couple friends wanted to read it, so I promised I'd post it.)





	January 22, 1973 (A Day with the Doctor)

**Author's Note:**

> A rapidly-written (with narrative pacing to match--sorry, I was on a very tight time schedule!) Mother's Day present. My mom dislikes traditional card-and-flowers presents, so I quizzed her on her favorite moments in history under the guise of helping a friend with a history project, and wrote her into a Doctor Who adventure instead. (Selected historical topic is Roe v. Wade, and is written with a pro-choice perspective, so if you lean toward the anti-abortion side, keep that in mind.)

   


It is about 4:23 in the evening. It is a Tuesday; as with most Tuesdays, we are on Earth. Unlike most Tuesdays, we are not in Britain.

A blue box is nestled in a corner of the living room. Chairs and a couple of baskets have been pulled aside to make room for it. A figure with short curly hair sits on the couch, deeply engrossed in a video game while waiting for the house’s inhabitants to arrive.

The sound of a garage door startles him for a moment, then he laughs and pauses the game. The sound of keys jingling accompany the turn of the doorknob, the door swinging open to reveal a woman with curly hair bustling in, setting down bags and coffee.

The curly-haired figure has gotten up to walk to the kitchen. “Hey, mom.”

The woman yelps and turns around, only to laugh lightly. “Hey! I didn’t know you were here.”

“Ah, yeah. Well, I had a project to work on, so, y’know.” He shrugs.

“Did someone drop you off? I didn’t see your car in the driveway.” She sets down a folder full of papers, then rifles through the mail while muttering “Spam, spam, more spam…”

“Uh, not really.” He’s waiting for something; the mischievous grin on his face is proof of that. “Did you check out the living room?”

“What? Why, what’s in the living room?” the woman asks in an amused tone, shifting over a few steps. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“Tadaa.”

“ _ Eli! _ ” She sets down the rest of the mail and hurries around the counter to get a better look. “Eli, did you build that? It looks  _ phenomenal _ ! How long did this  _ take _ ?”

“Um, I didn’t build it, actually,” he says nonchalantly. “It’s not even technically mine. I, uh, got a friend to get it in here.”

“What--is  _ this  _ your Mother’s Day gift?” she asks, laughing. “I love it!” She reaches out to touch the door, only for Eli to leap forward and grab her hand before she can touch it.

“Eh, hold on! Hold on, you probably need to… um.” He giggles, then waves her back into the kitchen. “You should probably meet that friend of mine. He’s in the bathroom.”

“Not anymore,” comes a slightly muffled, accented voice, and Allison freezes.

A tall man emerges from the hallway, rubbing a towel over his face, then brushes graying curls back from his face and flashes what he seems to believe is a charming smile. “Hello.”

Allison gapes, then makes a somewhat distressed noise and flails an arm toward Eli.

Eli laughs too, then nudges Allison forward. “Well, he won’t bite. Say hello.”

Allison nods nervously, turning back to the man. “I’m sorry, um,  _ hello _ ,” she says. Her face seems a bit flustered, stuck on a permanent grin. “ _ You’re even in the costume and everything _ \--”

The man frowns. “Costume?” He glances at Eli. “You didn’t tell her--”

“What was I supposed to say?” Eli says flippantly. “Besides, she’ll believe you more, I think.”

“Believe what?”

The man takes a breath. “Well. Me. Believe that I’m not Peter, that is.”

“Is this some sort of joke? Funny? I’m supposed to pretend you’re the Doctor?” Allison asks, though she sounds delighted. “Eli, I am in  _ awe _ \--how did you even  _ arrange _ \--?”

“Actually, oh, look at the time,” Eli says quickly. “I’ve still got that project to work on. Uh, I’ll be in the garage!” he adds, and takes off for the door.

“Wait wait wait!” Allison calls, bewildered. “Eli--” The door is already shut, though.

The tall man has tucked his hands in his pockets, looking mildly amused. “Well, he’s never been one for beating around the bush, has he,” he notes, and quickly taps her shoulder as she starts after Eli. “Wait. He wants me to show you something first.”

She glances at him, setting her sunglasses atop her head. “Um, all right.” She still sounds confused, but relents, and follows the man as he gestures toward the box.

“So I take it you’re familiar with the premise?” he asks.

“Of what? The TARDIS? Space ship, bigger on the inside?”

He nods appreciatively, taking out a small key from a chain around his neck and slips it into the door, then pauses. “Actually…” He walks around her and positions her in front of the doors. “Eyes closed.”

“Oh,  _ come on _ ,” she says. “You’re playing with me.”

“Oh, just--just do it,” he says, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and he gestures again, waving his hand in small circles. “Eyes shut.”

“All right, I’ll play along,” Allison concedes, and shuts her eyes.

There’s the sound of the key turning in the lock, and the door creaks slightly as it opens. The man nudges her into the box, then slips in after her.

“Eyes open, please.”

Allison opens her eyes, and lets out a small shriek.

“ _ Oh my-- _ nope, nope  _ nope _ , I’m dreaming,” she half-yells, and jumps back. “I’m dreaming--”

The man stands to the side, looking slightly worried. “I--should I, um--should I have warned you, or--?”

“ _ DREAMING-- _ what?” Allison snaps focus back to him. “Oh, if this is a dream--”

“It’s a… it’s a Mother’s Day gift.” The man--The  _ Doctor _ \--shifts from foot to foot nervously. “He… remember, you said you didn’t want a--a card or anything, so he thought--”

“Dream or not,  _ oh my-- _ ” She inhales, then excitedly jumps back toward him. “ _ This is the TARDIS _ !”

“It’s… I’m sorry, it’s not a dream,” he manages, still looking somewhat concerned. “Did… did you  _ want  _ it to be? I mean, I know being around me isn’t always, uh, _ safe _ , strictly speaking, but…”

“No, no! Dream is fine! Dream is  _ perfectly _ fine!” She pauses. “Unless you’re looking to whisk me off to the middle of--of Dalek-land, though, I’m not one for daring stunts.”

“It’s… not a dream,” he says again, awkwardly. “Actually, Eli asked me to take you on one trip. Quick trip. Not even leaving Earth. Perfectly safe.”

“Not leaving Earth doesn’t mean  _ perfectly safe _ ,” she quips, then watches him with enormous eyes as he drifts toward the console. “Oh, I want to see how you fly this thing.”

He glances over. “You can help, if you like.”

Her face splits into another grin, and he directs her to the side of the console nearest the door, and touches her hand to a curious device that looks like a very large bicycle bell set into the console glass.

“Since you can’t read Gallifreyan, focus here,” he says, and taps a complicated circle at the bell’s five o’clock. “When I say, pull this…” He sets her hand on a knob atop the bell, “and pull the lever to there.” He sets her hand atop the lever. “Let go of the knob and the lever will stay there. Don’t worry about doing it quickly--just pull the knob, move the lever, and let the knob go.”

She nods. “Um, if I don’t do this right, it’s not going to, like, fling us off into space, will it?” she asks with a nervous laugh.

He squints at her. “Of course not. It’s a TARDIS, not a Kerbal machine.”

“A Ker--a Ker-what?”

He sighs. “Kerbal. They’re funny little creatures whose spaceships are…” He trails off, muttering under his breath, then adds more audibly, “ _ not _ TARDISes. And very difficult to control.” He flips a switch, then spins a dial, and the TARDIS whines. “It’s a--would you quit that? She’ll do fine,” he snaps, glaring at the central column, and the whine peters off.

“Uh-oh, does she know I mess it up or something?”

“No, she’s just being obstinate. Anyway. It’s a spatial release. See how it’s three marks down from the top?” he says, pointing, and Allison checks the bell-dial.

“Yeah. Does that mean, like, three dimensions?”

He blinks. “Actually, yes. Well, sort of.” He busies himself with tapping buttons, flicking levers, and so on. “Top--at what would be zero--means we don’t want to move at all. One means displacing along one plane, such as forward and backward. Two moves along two planes--what you’d call three dimensions, the XY plane and the YZ plane--and three means displacing along four dimensions, which means three dimensions plus time.”

Allison watches him, grinning widely. “Okay. Okay, I think I got most of that. Moving in… dimensions plus time.”

He glances up at her, then nods. “Close enough. And… now, pull it now,” he says, and Allison fumbles for a moment before moving the lever and letting go of the knob, which springs into place, and the Doctor pulls the handbrake.

The TARDIS immediately springs to life, the top columns whirring and spinning, and Allison leans back, watching like a child in a candy store.

The Doctor peers around the center column at her as the TARDIS’s signature groan echoes around the chamber. “So. What do you think?”

Allison looks over. “About… the TARDIS? I think this is one heck of a dream,” she admits. “Oh! Oh! Can you tell me how it works?”

“Mother’s Day present,” he corrects absently, long fingers twitching over the console panel. “Whoops--” He leans over and flips another switch, then slowly pulls the handbrake down. “Short flight. Um… how it works?”

“How does the time-travel work?!”

He pauses. “That’s a very complicated topic.” He takes a breath. “Suffice to say, the fourth dimension we move through is time. TARDISes are eleven-dimensional beings; they basically pick us up from one point in time and move us to another.” He gestured to the console. “These are less controls and more… very advanced communications arrays to say exactly where or when we want to go.”

“How does the traveling work?”

He grins. “Bends space. Like if you have an ant on a piece of paper, you can make the ant walk the whole distance, or you can fold the paper and the ant can walk across a shorter distance to the same place.” He flips a switch idly. “Same premise, just in four dimensions instead of three. And with TARDISes and humans instead of humans and ants, I suppose.” He nods toward the door. “We  _ are _ here, you know.”

Allison jumps away from the railing excitedly. “Where are we? Or,” she amends, “ _ when _ are we?”

“January. Here,” he says, pressing a formal-looking jacket that he seems to have conjured out of thin air into her hands as he brushes past. “You might want that.”

“Oh. Okay,” she says, and pulls the jacket on. “Heh, look! It fits! Whose is this? I know it’s not  _ yours _ ,” she says lightly, following him to the door.

“TARDIS’s,” he remarks wryly. “She’s  _ clever _ like that.” He pulls the door shut behind them, locking it securely.

Allison turns, taking in a rather ornate hall of marble. “Wow. Now  _ this _ is a fancy place.”

“Ah-ah, come on now,” he says, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the hallway despite her protests. “You can take in the view later, I can only get us in if… Ah, hello!” he said jovially, letting her go as they arrive at the end of the marble hall. “John Smith, with the… the news,” he announces, albeit somewhat awkwardly, to a man at the door, fishing out a small slip of paper in a leather fold. “Credentials, yes… and this is my  _ colleague _ \--colleague, that’s very important--Allison.”

The man eyes the pair, his eyes lingering on the paper, then on the Doctor’s jacket--admittedly, the red velvet is an odd choice--and her hair, but nods wearily and waves them in.

“ _ Ho-ly sh-  _ uh,  _schneikes_ ,” Allison breathes, turning as they enter. “Is this--?”

The Doctor turns to her, expression alight. “Welcome to the Supreme Court session of January 22, 1973.” He sweeps an arm around, indicating a room resplendent with reddish brown, polished wood, velvet, and a long panel of pillars along the far side of the room.

Allison starts a squeal, only to quickly stifle it as the Doctor flaps his hands at her.

“Hush, hush! We’re supposed to be reporters, we have to act like we’ve been here before!” He doesn’t sound particularly urgent, though--more amused than anything--and merely leads her over to a side of the room filled with wooden pews. “Media sits here.”

Allison nods excitedly. “Oh, oh, I wish I had a camera or something--”

“Recording devices aren’t allowed in here,” the Doctor notes. “And we are… right on time,” he says, as people begin to settle down. He pulls her down to sit on the bench.

Allison watches as the court proceedings begin, fascinated, but seems disheartened. She sits back as the justices enter the room, then whispers to the Doctor, “It’s a bit  _ bland _ , isn’t it.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“It’s neat seeing this in  _ person _ , but…” She huffs. “I prefer  _ modern _ court, when there’s actually women sitting up there.”

He nods. “This group does tend to be a bit… polarized to the male side,” he comments. “Just wait.”

She sighs and sits back, but still seems interested as the court moves on.

I would describe the following scenes, but it would be much more concise to say you’re better off finding them on oyez.org or in a book of the Supreme Court opinion reports; they’re very long-winded.

Allison yawns.

The Doctor shuffles his feet.

“Justice Rehnquist has our opinion this morning in case 70-18, Roe v. Wade, and the consolidated cases.”

The Doctor immediately frowns, and Allison leans forward.

“Is that right?”

The Doctor’s frown deepens, and he holds up a finger as one of the justices--Rehnquist--starts to speak.

“The Court’s opinion brings to the decision of this troubling question both extensive historical fact and a wealth of legal scholarship. The opinion thus commands respect, and the Court has found the Texas statute in question justifiable and within moral standard.”

The Doctor leans forward quickly, his frown only intensifying even more.”I think we have a problem.”

Allison frowns as well, watching the Justice read from his papers.

“The Court’s opinion decides that a State may impose restriction on the performance of abortions. Our previous decisions indicate that a necessary…”

“Wait,  _ what _ ? This isn’t quite how I remember it,” Allison mutters, and the Doctor nods consent.

“It’s not how I remember it, either,” he mumbles, fumbling in his jacket pocket and whipping out a small, pen-like device with a blue light, which whirrs quietly in his lap as he hits a button and directs it at the Justice.

“What are you doing?” Allison asks.

“Checking something. Hold on.”

The Justice continues speaking. “Nonetheless, the Court cannot use her complaint against the Texas statute as a fulcrum for deciding that States may not impose restrictions on medical abortions performed during the first trimester of pregnancy. If the Court decided such a hypothetical lawsuit--”

“ _ Hypothetical _ lawsuit?” Allison seethes. “I’ll show  _ him _ hypothetical--”

“This isn’t how it went. This was a  _ fixed _ point in time--” the Doctor mutters, directing the blue light at each of the Justices, then froze, staring at it.

“What? What is it?”

“We have a problem,” the Doctor says thickly. “A very big problem.” He jumps up, ignoring indignant whispers and shushing. The Justice stops reading and stares.

“What? What are we doing?” Allison asks hurriedly, but he simply shakes his head.

“Sorry folks, just… following protocol, here, I’m with security…” he says distractedly, pitching his voice a little louder and moving past the pews and flipping open the small slip of paper again.

“And on whose authority are you here,  _ exactly _ ?” the Justice asks.

“The President,” the Doctor states, only to stare at the screwdriver and start backing slowly toward the door.

Allison inches toward the Doctor as nearly all faces turn to stare at them. “Doctor?”

“Hold on.” He quickly pockets his screwdriver. “Okay. Quickly. Who wrote the dissent for Roe v. Wade?”

“What?”

Someone at the front of the room speaks up in a flat tone, accusing. “They aren’t human.”

Several people turn to look at the person in utter confusion.

“I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?” asks the judge.

Allison freezes. “Uh, Doctor?”

“Roe v. Wade!  _ Quickly _ !”

“Um--um--I can google it!” Allison says wildly.

The Doctor reaches an arm over her as they continue to back towards the door. “I think, in lieu of that, we should, perhaps…  _ run _ ,” he says, then turns on his heel, grabs her hand, and takes off in a sprint.

There’s an immediate clatter as half the room and a few of the Justices leap up in pursuit; people cry out in shock as papers, chairs, and even lamps are shoved to the side.

“ _ Doctor _ !” Allison shouts. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s meddling with this!” the Doctor pants. “This is a fixed point--it’s a fixed moment, like a pin to a corkboard. And someone has apparently decided to stick their fingers in it!” He skids ‘round the corner and moves toward the TARDIS at full speed, only to come face-to-face with a line of stoic-looking people blocking the way. Allison yelps.

“Oops, not this way, come on, come on…” the Doctor says hurriedly, dragging her across the hall. “Quick! Stairs, stairs--” He points the screwdriver at the next door and the lock clicks open. “Come on!”

Allison scrambles after him and he slams the door shut behind them, pointing the screwdriver to lock it again, and he turns, flapping his hands at her. “Well,  _ keep going _ ! A lock won’t keep them out forever!”

She turns and bolts down the stairs, sandals snapping against her feet. “Oh, oh, I should’ve worn tennis shoes, I should’ve worn tennis shoes!” she wailed.

The Doctor easily catches up, taking the stairs two at a time. “For next time, then,” he pants. “I don’t understand, though! Who would be  _ obstinate _ enough to try changing something like this?  _ How _ would they?”

Allison slows for a moment to catch her breath as they arrive at the landing. “I don’t know. Misogynists?”

“They can’t be  _ human _ , though,” the Doctor muses, flipping his screwdriver idly. There’s a loud banging on the locked door, and it echoes down the staircase; startled, he starts walking again. “We should probably keep moving.”

Allison nods, leaning down to adjust her shoes, then takes off after him. “Who do you think it is?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Aliens. Shapeshifters? Slitheen? Zygons?” He snorted. “Republicans?”

Allison laughs. “My money’s on that last one. Heavens knows they’re alien enough.”

The Doctor shrugs, peeking through one door, then the next, and finally pulls his screwdriver out. “Okay. Can’t get to the TARDIS, nowhere to go, trapped in the basement of a government building.” He sighs. “Well, I  _ have _ been in worse.” He begins pointing the screwdriver about, then continues down the hall. “Shall we?”

Allison follows. “What do we do when we find them? If they’ve already said the opinions?”

He shrugs. “I think we may be better playing that by ear.” He stops short, holding up a finger. “Do you hear that?”

“Hm?”

He turns back the way they came. “They’ve got the door open.” He looks at the screwdriver again, then looks around hurriedly. “Quick, quick! In here!” He points it at another door, the lock clicks, and he throws it open; they hurry inside and he quickly locks it again as footsteps pound down the hallway.

“That was close,” Allison whispers, and he nods, peering through the minuscule crack around the doorframe.

“Who, though?” he asks; the question sounds more rhetorical than an inquiry.

Allison tugs on his sleeve. “Doctor?” Her voice sounds frantic.

“Mm?”

“Doctor? Turn around, please?”

He turns, and blinks in surprise. “ _ Oh _ .”

He comes face-to-face with the barrel of a pistol.

  


“ _ How did you get in here?! _ ”

“I unlocked the door,” the Doctor says offhandedly, leaning back against the table they were seated in front of.

“With what key? That isn’t even a human lock!” shouts the man--young, likely mid-twenties, with dark hair--and he brandishes the pistol. Allison winces.

“If you’d let me  _ show _ you, I unlocked it with a  _ screwdriver _ . Sonic one.”

“A  _ sonic _ screwdriver?” The man scoffs. “You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s actually very handy,” the Doctor says conversationally. “Unlocking doors, running diagnostics--”

“ _ Shut up! _ ” the man shouts, and the Doctor quickly falls silent. “That was rhetorical!”

As the man starts to pace, the Doctor starts eyeing the dim silhouette of a series of pods along the back wall.

“Doctor?” Allison whispers, leaning toward him from her seat. “What do we do?”

“Just give me a moment,” the Doctor whispers back, then clears his throat. “So what exactly  _ is _ your plan?” he asks loudly.

“None of your business!” the man shouts back.

“Well. He’s not very talkative, I take it,” the Doctor whispers. Then, loudly, “What are those pods?”

“STOP TALKING!” shrieks the man; he’s starting to come across as nervous.

“Are you working for them, or is it the other way around?” the Doctor asks.

The man draws closer, raising the pistol with a shaking hand. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

“They’re working for  _ you _ , aren’t they,” the Doctor says, sitting back again. “Let me guess, hired a couple of Zygons to rig the court decision?”

He gives the pistol a shake; the muzzle is barely two inches from the Doctor’s nose, and Allison shrinks back, eyes wide.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” the Doctor says smoothly, and the man raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m  _ not _ ?”

“You aren’t going to shoot me for the same reason the humans in those pods over there are still alive.”

The man glances back wildly, then turns his attention back to the Doctor. “That’s not the-- it isn’t--” HIs finger is inching toward the trigger, but the Doctor is determined.

“Pull it, then. Or let us get up, and we can  _ help _ you,” the Doctor implored.

His finger touches the trigger, and--

“ _ OOF. _ ” The man drops the gun and doubles over. Allison recoils, tucking her foot back under her. The Doctor stares.

“Or we could do it that way.” He hurries over to the pistol, emptying the ammo and tossing it away to the side of the room. “You know, this goes much faster with decisive action, unlike usual. Well-aimed kick.”

Allison makes an odd noise, doubled over the same. “I was really, really nervous,” she says breathlessly. “He just-- _ oh, I do not like guns _ \--”

The Doctor grins. “Neither do I.” He walks over and helps her up, then eyes the man lying curled on the ground. “Now, then. Shall we have a talk?”

  


The man sits across from them at the table, looking inordinately nervous, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, which he’s pulled at until it’s come untucked.

“So.” The Doctor leans back. “Care to explain what’s going on here?”

The man shifts his gaze back and forth, from Allison back to the Doctor. “Not really.”

“Oh, come on!” Allison exclaims. “You hired Zygons to impersonate judges! To throw the decision!”

“ _ You don’t know why I did it! _ ” the man spits. Allison glares.

“Well,  _ excuse me _ ,” she snaps. “I wasn’t aware you really thought your opinion was more important than the  _ lives of women _ .”

“I’m trying to-- _ look _ , you wouldn’t understand!” he yells. “I’m trying to  _ help _ them!”

The Doctor shifts in his seat. “Hold on, now. Let’s just… slow down. Hear each other out.” He shakes his head as Allison turns to him, mouth open to retort. “No. Listen. Zygons often work on psychic links, yeah?” He gestures to the man. “We very well may have to convince him to draw the Zygons down here first.”

“ _ He rigged the case _ !” Allison says indignantly, but she nods sourly and sits back, arms crossed with a huff.

The man looks between them nervously again. “I’m not doing anything like that.”

The Doctor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll see. How about you start with  _ why _ ?”

The man doesn’t answer.

“What’s your name?”

He hesitates before speaking. “Tom Collins.”

“Collins. Tom Collins.” The Doctor nods. “Now, there’s an entire contingent of Zygons and humans both probably looking for us. Zygons don’t want us to know they’re Zygons, humans think we’re here without permission--which, frankly, we are--and none of us can tell which, exactly, are the Zygons or the humans except for  _ possibly _ you--but if I had to guess, you only know which judges are Zygons, don’t you,” he finishes.

The man closes his eyes and sucks in a breath. “Look, I just… I just hired them because I knew they wouldn’t decide the right way--”

“Hey, now,” the Doctor interjects as Allison sucks in another breath. “We’ve each got different opinions. We’re at a standstill. Just keep talking.”

“Well, where exactly do  _ you _ stand on this?” Allison asks hotly, gesturing toward the Doctor.

“I am trying to make sure we can get the Zygon duplicates in here!” he snaps back. “If you could be patient!”

There is a sudden clatter as the man stands and tries to bolt for the door, but the Doctor leaps up after him and grabs his arm before he can cross the distance. “No, no you don’t,” he admonishes. “Sit back down.”

The man tries to pull away halfheartedly. “Why do you all care so much?”

The Doctor sighs. “This is a fixed point in time, okay? And you’ve meddled with it, which means I can’t leave until it’s fixed.”

“It’s a fixed point in time that they decide it’s  _ fine _ for a woman to kill her kid?!” the man snarls.

“Actually, the decision was centered on privacy, if I remember correctly,” the Doctor says brusquely, sitting the man back down at the table. “Within the first three months.”

“They’re wrong,” the man says stubbornly.

“Prove it,” Allison hisses.

The man runs his hands through his hair, suddenly anguished. “They don’t know what they’re  _ doing _ !”

“Why don’t you  _ enlighten _ us?” the Doctor asks. “If you convince us, we can all go upstairs and smooth this out. If not…” He shrugs. “We’ll figure something out.”

The man glares between them again. “Why do you care so much?”

“As I said. This is a fixed point in time. We’re time travellers; the fact you know how to hire Zygons means you shouldn’t be very surprised at that, either.”

“I’m not.” The man narrows his eyes. “You’re that one they call the Doctor, aren’t you. And you’re talking to  _ me _ about meddling.”

“I don’t meddle with  _ fixed points _ ,” the Doctor snaps, patience wearing thin. “Do you have any idea how much damage you could cause? No! You don’t, because you’re a human and you probably barely know what fixed points  _ are _ .” He takes a breath. “How about you just start from the beginning?”

The man rolls his eyes. “I want to protect them.”

“Who? The fe--er, the, um,  _ unborn _ ?”

“Well, yes, but the  _ mothers _ .”

The Doctor raises his eyebrows and sits back. “Well, that’s a slight bit different. Why?”

The man narrows his eyes again, and the Doctor raises his hands in a conceding gesture. “I’m only asking.”

The man takes a breath. “Look. My--my wife and I. We wanted to have a child, she miscarried, and people are out there wanting to  _ do _ that to  _ themselves _ .” He takes another breath. “The medical procedures are  _ risky _ , and there’s lots of people who will come to regret doing what they did.”

The Doctor frowns. “Not any riskier than other invasive procedures, you know.”

“ _ You don’t know that _ !” the man shouts, then clears his throat. “You don’t know that.”

The Doctor’s frown only deepens. “Why should it be up to you?” he asks slowly.

“Look, the government outlaws plenty of things that are dangerous.”

“And there’s plenty that they don’t. Abortion procedures are actually very safe, if done legally.” The Doctor pauses. “Is… there something else? Something you’re not saying?”

Allison is tapping her foot impatiently, and the Doctor holds up a finger.

“Your wife. Were there complications?”

“What?”

“There’s something you’re not saying. Something… more personal, something--”

“Shove off,” the man mutters.

“ _ Did _ she miscarry?” the Doctor asks gently. The man shakes his head, though it seems more to clear his head than communication of an answer.

Allison looks between them. “What happened, then?”

The Doctor sits back, looking pensive. “Did she want to carry the pregnancy to term?”

The man nods, but avoids eye contact. “Yeah.”

“What happened?”

The man takes a breath. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because I’m asking nicely.” He shrugs. “And there isn’t much of a reason not to, is there?”

The man rolls his eyes again. “She got sick. Really sick.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair again. “They were convinced if she… if she terminated the pregnancy, she’d be strong enough to recover, and she… she died on their operating table instead.”

The Doctor steepled his fingers. “ _ Oh _ . I’m sorry.”

The man shakes his head. “Why would anyone  _ want _ to miscarry?” he mumbles.

“It should still be up to the women,” Allison reasoned. “I’m sorry about what happened--really--but taking away women’s rights to choose what happens to their bodies  _ isn’t _ the way to do that.”

“It’s not  _ safe _ procedures, though!” the man argues. “They’re risky, done by groups that aren’t always even licensed--”

“Because it’s  _ illegal _ right now,” the Doctor states softly. “They can’t go to their doctors because their doctors won’t help.” He sighs and rolls his shoulders, standing up. “What if I told you that, a few decades from now, technology will be workable and flexible enough that risk for surgeries will be a fraction of what it is now?”

The man bites his lip. “That isn’t  _ now _ .”

“No. But think.” The Doctor gestures around the room. “Is this what you want? Really? There will always be women who choose abortions, but outlawing it will cause more deaths because people can’t establish  _ safe _ practices.” The Doctor shrugged. “Decades from now, deaths from abortions will be extremely rare.”

The man looks up skeptically. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Allison’s face lights up, and she quickly leans over to whisper in the Doctor’s ear.

He grins. “You know what? Why not. I like it.”

  


A few moments later, the three huddle behind one of the marble pillars in the main hall, and the Doctor peers around and quickly gestures. The three sprint across as quietly as possible, and the Doctor hurriedly unlocks the door and they crowd into the TARDIS.

“Now,” the Doctor states, starting to run around the console as usual. “A few things… let’s see, yes…” he mutters as the man--Tom--stares around the room. Allison watches smugly.

“It’s--it’s--”

“Bigger on the inside!” Allison says gleefully, and he staggers to one side, catching the railing.

“It’s… wow,” he breathes.

The Doctor pulls the handbrake, and the TARDIS whirrs to life, the center column rising and falling. “It’s a short flight, so--” His voice is drowned out by the landing thud following almost immediately, and he nods instead.

“It’s a  _ ship _ ?” Tom asks incredulously, and the Doctor nods again, walking briskly past the two humans.

“Now, I don’t have an  _ awful _ lot of time,” he says quickly, swinging the door open. “But this should give you an idea.”

The three emerge into an alcove tucked in the hall of a bustling medical building, and the Doctor nods, gesturing around. “Well?”

“I…” Tom spins, looking around. “It’s quite something.”

The Doctor grins and nods, walking down the hall. “Welcome to the Parkmed Women’s Health Clinic in New York! Providing women’s healthcare service to thousands since 1971.”

Tom opens his mouth, but the Doctor cuts him off.

“We’re in 2020,” the Doctor states, and points to a calendar hanging on a cork bulletin board. He glances at Allison. “I know you said ‘ _ current _ ’, but I skipped ahead just a smidge.”

Tom gapes, walking over to the bulletin board as Allison grins and looks around.

“We’re in the  _ future _ !” she exclaims, and the Doctor raises his eyebrows and smiles.

“Ah,” he says, reaching out to tap the shoulder of a passing nurse. “Excuse me. Are you busy?”

The nurse, a dark-skinned woman with long braids, looks at him a little confusedly, but shakes her head. “No. What can I do for you?”

“Could you--by any chance--tell us what the general safety of, say, a first-trimester abortion is?”

Her brows knit together, but she continues, largely unfazed. “Well, I’d have to say they’re some of the safest medical procedures we do. Safer than childbirth, by large. Most of the risk actually comes from general anesthesia, since some people have reactions to it.”

“And what about for ill women? If, say, the pregnancy was a threat to the woman’s health?”

“Um, even more so, then. The procedures for an abortion remain some of the safest medical procedures possible, compared to exceptionally high mortality rates for illegal, unsafe abortions.”

The Doctor nodded, spinning on his heel to face Tom. “Why, thank you, Miss--er--” He squints back at her name tag. “Miss Lyasha.”

The woman laughs rather awkwardly. “Not a problem. Is there… anything else I can help you with?”

Tom snaps his jaw shut. “You’re serious? It’s…  _ that _ safe?”

The nurse nods. “Quite.”

Tom looks from her to the Doctor. “I… I don’t believe you. I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t think--”

“If it’s something you or your family is considering, we have consultants who can talk to you about it,” she adds.

Tom looks from Allison, who nods encouragingly, back to the Doctor. “Really?”

“Yes. Actually,” she says, checking a pager in her pocket, “if you’d like, you can follow me to the next floor and find someone to talk with.”

“Sounds good.” The Doctor bounces on his heels. “Lead the way!”

  


Eventually, it’s decided that Tom gets to talk to one of the doctors, and as they head off into an adjacent room--Tom looking a little bit nervous--Allison and the Doctor sit in the waiting room.

“So.” The Doctor crosses his legs. “What do you think?”

“I think we need to know what to do with those Zygons, just in case he doesn’t entirely come around,” Allison states.

“That’s fair.” The Doctor steeples his fingers again. “If we can get the humans out of those pods, that should be half the battle.” He frowns. “Actually, if we damage one of the pods, we should be able to get the Zygons to come running.” He sighs. “What do we do with the Zygons themselves, I wonder…?”

“How many are there?”

“I’m not sure.” He shifts. “There were quite a few pods, though. Seven, at least.”

“Seven Zygons,” Allison muses. “Hm.”

“It will be far easier if we can just get him to call the Zygons off,” the Doctor notes. “If he tells them to, then once they get payment, they should clear off.”

“Then we make him call them off,” Allison states matter-of-factly, and the Doctor grins. “What?”

“You’re sure it’ll go that smoothly?”

Allison snorts. “No. But we don’t have a choice.”

The Doctor nods, still grinning. “You’re refreshingly to-the-point.”

  


Tom’s discussion with the doctor ends up taking close to an hour, and finally, the door opens. Tom follows the doctor out, looking down dejectedly.

The Doctor jumps up, tossing the magazine he’d been reading onto the table. “Ready to go?”

Tom glances up, then nods. “Um, thank you, Doctor…”

“Neely. I’m glad to help,” the doctor says warmly, shaking hands. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

Tom nods, and starts after the Doctor, hands tucked in his pocket. Allison follows at the rear.

Once they were safely back into the TARDIS, the Doctor glances at Tom. “So. Are you going to help us undo whatever foolishness your Zygons caused?”

Tom looks up, eyes narrowed. “I don’t really want to.The future isn’t now--for me, anyway. And I still don’t think it’s right.” He sighs.

The Doctor shrugs. “We need you to call off those Zygons. And frankly, I don’t have the patience for a lot of ‘pleases’ and pleasantries. I’ll stick you in the TARDIS if I have to.”

Tom scowls. “I had a feeling I was going to be overruled,” he mutters. “I still don’t think it’s right.”

“You don’t have to,” Allison scoffs. “Call those Zygons.”

“It’s not as easy as picking up a phone,” he snaps. “But  _ fine _ .”

The TARDIS’s landing thud echoes.

“I piloted us to the basement this time,” the Doctor says, heading for the door. “We should be in the same room as those pods.” He pulls open the door.

Tom and Allison slip out after him, and Tom exclaims softly.

“Oh. You’re already here.”

A line of seven people, including two Justices, greet them. The centermost man starts to speak.

“Yes. We sensed your departure. We still require payment.”

Tom grimaced. “Yeah. Okay. Look, I don’t have it  _ on _ me, okay? I’ll get it--”

“We require payment now. The duplicates’ colleagues have discovered our originals.”

Allison glances up at the Doctor. “How long were we gone?”

The Doctor frowns. “Shouldn’t have been gone long.” He cleared his throat. “So, uh, how long were we gone?”

“Two hours,” states another Zygon-duplicate. “We thought Tom Collins had departed without payment.”

Tom huffs. “I  _ have _ the payment. It’s at my place.” He sighs and rolls his shoulders. “Did you all get the originals out of the psychic pods?”

The Zygons shake their heads in unison.

“Where are the rest of the humans?” the Doctor asks, and one of the Zygons point toward the door, against which several chairs and a desk have been piled.

“Well. Okay,” Tom says.

“You forbade us from killing,” one of the rogue Zygons drones.

“Yeah, that’d kind of be against this entire operation,” Tom mutters. He glances sideways at the Doctor and Allison, then adds, “Get these humans out.”

“You are terminating the contract?”

Tom grimaces. “Against my better judgment.”

The Zygons exchange glances, then walk forward, each sliding a hand along the outside of the dimly-lit pods, and the Doctor and Allison exchange triumphant expressions as they spill open to reveal the sleeping human counterparts.

  


Several hours later, after the Doctor haggles with the Zygons and they leave Earth--for once, without casualties--for good, they settle the newly-freed humans in and the court appears ready to start again. The recently-freed humans, after copious amounts of water and ibuprofen, call the court together. Allison and the Doctor take their previous place on the media benches.

“Now,” calls one of the justices tiredly, “we are reconsidering the case of Roe v. Wade, case 70-18, and associated cases. The previous jurisdiction having been rejected due to impersonation, we now hear the majority opinion from Justice Blackmun.”

“ _ That _ sounds better,” the Doctor breathes, leaning back. “Now. Isn’t that much better?”

Allison turns back to him, flashing an enormous grin. “ _ Much _ better.” She bounces in her seat. “Oh, I can’t  _ wait _ to tell Eli about this,” she says excitedly, and the Doctor smirks.

“Somehow, I think he already knows.” He shifts in his seat. “Not a bad Mother’s Day present, hm?”

“It’s  _ fantastic _ !”


End file.
